


The Light of a Buttercup

by GalaxyKitty



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Geralt does have feelings, Geralt fights monsters and gets hurt, Geralt hums instead of saying words a lot, Geraskier, Happy Ending, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, I say first kiss but then there's many other kisses after that aha, Jaskier has the ability to heal!, Jaskier says many words in his stead, Love Confessions, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, but Jaskier is there!, gerlion, he does, let Jaskier braid Geralt's hair, they both want to protect each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-19 15:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22913104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyKitty/pseuds/GalaxyKitty
Summary: Jaskier doesn't like to see Geralt in pain. The witcher has been through enough as it is, so Jaskier took it upon himself to protect the silver-haired man the best he can. He would be the one to look out for the witcher when no one else would.A story where Jaskier has the ability to heal and takes care of Geralt whenever he gets hurt.Though there may be something else about his ability as well.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 26
Kudos: 758





	The Light of a Buttercup

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note! The space between sections of the story where I add a " ... " to separate them are there to show little time skips! So these events take place on different days! I don't have a set time frame but if I were to make a guess I'd say this story spans about a few months? You'll understand when you see them!

Jaskier doesn’t like to see Geralt in pain.

The witcher has been through enough as it is, between his countless battles with monsters, getting caught between wars, and dealing with less than unsavory people. He does a lot for the people, Jaskier guessing he has saved more lives than the number of monsters he has killed, yet some people still continue to treat him as less than human.

And the bard grimaces at the memory of some actually saying that. “He’s not a human,” they would say with a sneer, “he’s a mutant.”

Then there was Kaer Morhen. The first time Jaskier had heard of it, he had perked up at the thought of a song, for how intriguing a song would be about the mysterious past of a witcher and the secrets they hold. Yet, when he tried to talk to the silver-haired man about it, to try to get any details, the man would hardly say a word as his lips turned to a slight frown and his eyes seemed to zone out for a moment before he would make a low hum in his throat and turn away to do something else. Jaskier liked to think he knew the witcher well enough to decipher what little expressions got through his intimidating visage, and he could tell whatever it was that happened there didn’t bring back good memories for the man. So Jaskier didn’t bring it up anymore, knowing his friend was more important than a song. Because Geralt _was_ his friend. And Geralt was more important.

Geralt has been through enough, so Jaskier took it upon himself to protect the silver-haired man the best he can. He would be the one to look out for the witcher when no one else would.

Now, the bard was waiting at their shared room (to save coin, as he would always point out to Geralt) at an inn, sitting back on one of the two small beds as he waited for the silver-haired man to return from a job he was offered this morning. It seemed there was some monster causing panic in the nearby woods. Geralt had said it would be simple, nothing song worthy (and Jaskier was happy that the witcher remembered to think of that since the bard was always asking to tag along on these quests for material, even though he was also certain Geralt would just say that to get the bard to wait for him in town). So he waited, his worn-out journal in hand of empty pages as he scribbled down notes and ideas for future ballads, though he often got sidetracked and drew little flowers in the margins.

And then he heard startled sounds from downstairs where the main floor was, listening as there was someone talking, the innkeeper he recognized, before there were heavy footsteps that gradually got louder as they approached his door. Jaskier sat up on the bed, eyes wide, and watched as the room’s door was opened rather roughly as Geralt stepped inside. The witcher had his right arm hanging down by his side, left hand clutching it as blood slipped through his fingers and dripped down his arm.

“Geralt!” The bard yelped, surprised to see the witcher like this, and hastily crawled off the bed, his book left open behind him on the pillow. “By the- your arm is bleeding!”

And Geralt gave him a look, eyebrows lowered and unimpressed as Jaskier stated the obvious. The bard knew it was, though! That’s not the point! The point was that Geralt just walked into the room almost cradling a nasty looking injury, blood starting to drip onto the floor below him and Jaskier could guess there would be a trail down the stairs where he had come from as well, yet the witcher didn’t appear to be worried about it at all despite all the indicators telling Jaskier that he should be.

The bard had quickly rushed over to the witcher’s side, not touching the arm yet but leaning down to get a better look at it, pursing his lips before making an unhappy sound, grimacing. Geralt’s hand was still over it, pressing what appeared to be a torn piece of cloth over the worst of it, but from what Jaskier could see, it didn’t look nice.

The witcher then made a hum and turned to make his way over to his own bed on the other side of the room, but the bard quickly grabbed his good arm and shook his head, instead dragging the witcher over towards the carpet in front of the small unlit fireplace.

“Come over here, sit sit, I will not have you trailing blood on the nice sheets that have been so generously provided for us in this room.” Jaskier ordered, tugging the older man to sit down on the carpet.

Geralt didn’t say anything, only grunting as he moved his arm to rest in front of his lap, cloth still over the wound, and Jaskier got up for a moment to grab some supplies before sitting back down across from him.

“Okay, what are we dealing with?” Jaskier said finally, putting his hands in front of himself, and Geralt hummed as he removed the cloth, revealing the wound in all its glory, or rather whatever the opposite of glory was, because when Jaskier finally saw it in full, he had to keep himself from making a grotesque sound.

It was… unpleasant. Greatly unpleasant.

“See, Geralt, this is exactly what I _don’t_ want to see.” Jaskier groaned, rolling up his sleeves with a sigh. “Any worse and I would’ve asked where the rest of your arm went.”

Geralt stayed silent, as always, and Jaskier hummed softly in thought before gesturing for the man to move his arm over, the bard scooting over closer as he placed one hand under the witcher’s elbow to support the arm while his other hand hovered just above the wound. Then, ever so lightly, Jaskier let his fingers softly rest against the wound, relaxing his shoulders, and felt as his gentle magic began to flow through him, tingling as it reached his fingertips before a soft yellow glow emanated from the palm of his hand. He waited for a moment, waiting until he saw the first signs of the wound slowly stitching itself back together under the glow, then Jaskier finally let himself continue with his complaining towards the witcher.

“I swear, sometimes you’re just like a big blustering dog who goes in head first, rationality last. You need to be more careful, I mean, this is your sword arm! What would you do without your sword arm?”

Geralt hummed, turning his head from where it was staring at a wall to look down at the bard.

“But I know I have you.”

Jaskier felt his eyes widen slightly, blinking at the witcher’s words, and felt himself falter for a quick moment before regaining his focus to continue healing the other’s wound. He couldn’t help the small blush that rose on his cheeks, feeling a little flattered, though tried to push the thoughts away for the moment. It was nice, though, to know he could help. That he could be useful. Be needed. But…

“What if I’m not around?” Jaskier frowned, a thought that always appears whenever he’s treating the other’s wounds. “What if I’m not here, or you’re off somewhere and get hurt before you can return to me, or I can’t return to you? You need to take care of yourself, Geralt. You can’t always just dash forth recklessly, sword first.” He tried to hide how much he meant those words, how much he worried about the witcher whenever they weren’t side by side where the bard could keep an eye on him.

Geralt hummed, head turning to the side once more, but the bard didn’t expect an answer from him.

Jaskier let his eyes look down from the witcher then to the wound, watching its progress, and distantly wondered what Geralt would think whenever they did this. Jaskier preferred for his ability to remain a secret, having told that to the witcher and only healed his injuries behind closed doors or when they were alone during their travels, but there are a few people who he has taken care of before. When he had asked them, though, one described it as a warm feeling, like a flame that didn’t burn, and another said it made them think of flowers blooming on the sunrise of a spring morning. Jaskier hadn’t asked Geralt, though, unsure if the man would even answer or simply hum like he usually does during their conversations. He hoped it was warm for the other man, though, that it reminded him of something nice like flowers blooming.

When Jaskier felt that the wound was finally closed, he moved his hand away to grab a small cloth, wiping at the blood that was still there to clear it away and make sure there wasn’t anything he was missing. The skin was still red, but the wound had indeed closed, no longer hurt, and the witcher would be able to rest easy tonight. Jaskier wiped his own hand with the cloth, giving Geralt’s arm a playful pat afterwards with a small smile, and the man looked down at the now-healed skin before using his other arm to push himself upwards to stand up and walk back to the door.

Geralt murmured that he was going to go downstairs to get them something to eat, Jaskier making a low sound in acknowledgement to show he heard, and the witcher then stepped out the door, closing it behind him. Jaskier took the time to clean up then, returning the supplies he got out to his bag next to his lute he had resting on the chair by the door. He made a hum, pausing as he stared at his instrument’s case, but pursed his lips as he stepped with light feet back to his bed to lay on it and back against wall. He hugged his arms in front of himself, trying to remember how much coin he had saved up in his pouch. He had thought about performing at the tavern in town tonight, or sometime later, but frowned lightly to himself as he guessed he probably wouldn’t be playing his lute today. Or for a few days.

Geralt came back not long after, two plates of a fresh meal in hand, placing one down on the bed in front of the bard, and Jaskier nodded as he murmured a quiet thank you. He picked up a roll of bread with his left hand, tapping it on the plate as it made a soft sound, and though Geralt gave him a glance, the man didn’t say anything as he set his swords down next to his bed and removed his armor to reveal the lighter clothing underneath. He sat on his bed, resting his own plate on his lap, and the two ate in silence.

…

“Honestly, Geralt, it’s a wonder how you ever managed to get anywhere before when I wasn’t with you.” Jaskier said, waving his arms in the air rather dramatically when Geralt stepped through the brush to their campsite with his left pant leg torn, blood soaking into the cloth still around the wound as the man stumbled over to sit on the small log next to the fire Jaskier had proudly started by himself after the witcher left.

The man grunted, straightening his left leg out after he was seated and leaned down to roll up the pant leg to see the injury better. Jaskier had stepped over to squat down next to him, peering at the wound as well, pursing his lips as the cloth was sticking to the man’s skin from drying blood. When it was finally rolled up, though, the bard hummed as he examined the tooth marks, the familiar pattern of an animal’s bite creating an oval on the man’s skin.

“Ooh, what was it? Wolf? Werewolf? Barghest? I remember you mentioning barghests before, though I don’t think I’ve heard of them around as of late.” Jaskier tried to guess, but the witcher shook his head.

“Warg.”

“Ooh, wargs, have I seen one of those before? You really need to let me accompany you more when you go out hunting for these monsters instead of leaving me here at this camp all by my lonesome. I keep telling you; how will I be able to tell the stories of the beasts the great White Wolf has fought when I don’t even know what the beasts look like? It’ll hardly be a tale if I don’t have the details!”

“And there won’t be a tale if you get yourself killed when you’re face to face with one of them without a single weapon to your name.” The witcher frowned, looking unimpressed, and Jaskier huffed at him.

“I’ll have you know that words can be just as much of a weapon as your bloodied swords!” The bard retaliated, though that got the witcher to scoff back at him, knowing words would hardly do a thing to the monsters he faces besides the sound attracting them quicker. “Anyways, I’m sure I’d be quite a great deal safer by your side rather being left by myself at our little camps. What if a monster sneaks over here out from the shadows while you’re off witchering, hmm? What do you expect me to do then? Sing it to death?”

He could see Geralt raise one of his eyebrows, no doubt thinking about those last words, and Jaskier could practically read his mind wanting to say that’s what his singing did to the witcher anyways. But instead, Geralt hummed and averted his gaze from the bard back down to his leg.

“I wouldn’t leave you somewhere you could be endangered.” The witcher’s voice was low, a soft rumble in his throat, but Jaskier could hear the sincerity in his words.

Jaskier had never mentioned anything about it before, but he has noticed what Geralt does on days like today when they find a place to set up camp and the older man has to leave him for a moment. Geralt will stand in the middle of their spot, tilting his head ever so slightly, eyes closed as if he is focusing on something, and then his shoulders will raise, chest expanding as he takes a deep inhale of a breath, staying silent for another moment before letting the air leave through his lips. Jaskier knows that he’s listening, listening through the sounds of the forest ranging farther than any human could, and scenting the air for any signs of danger, any signs of something being out of place. Then almost as quickly as it happened, Geralt would straighten up and return to what he was doing before, muttering for the bard to stay put and begin setting up the site as he goes in search of whatever creature his contract is for that the man deemed too dangerous for the bard to see for himself. He wouldn’t say anything to the bard about what he did, but Jaskier knew. Jaskier knew and it never failed to put a soft smile on the bard’s lips, a warm feeling fluttering in his chest at the thought of the silver-haired man doing it to make sure he would be safe when he was away. And sure, Jaskier would complain about being left alone, he certainly wasn’t fond of it, but he never felt truly afraid when Geralt left, trusting him and knowing he would never stray too far as well. But if there were ever a chance that a monster were to somehow go undetected from Geralt’s senses, and Jaskier hardly believed one could, he was sure all he had to do was shout for the witcher and the man would hear; he would hear and come rushing through the trees not a moment later to protect him.

At least, that’s what Jaskier always imagined when he would sit by the fire, mind wandering as he waited for the man to return.

Geralt let out a heavy breath of air and Jaskier blinked as he was reminded of the wound. He got to work, then, telling Geralt to turn on the log so he could lay his leg along the side of it. Jaskier moved to sit on the ground next to him as he shrugged off his jacket, laying it neatly beside him as he always did, not wanting to get blood on his more elegant outfits. Then, with a delicate hand, Jaskier carefully let his fingers trace the outside of the wound, palm hovering just slightly above it, and he closed his eyes as he guided his magic to heal. He felt its gentle energy under his hand, like a subtle humming, and as he opened his eyes, he could see the soft yellow glow under the skies just starting to turn dark for the night. Whenever he did this outside under the cool of night, when the sun wasn’t out to cover the light from his magic’s energy, the yellow glow reminded him of the lightning bugs he used to see when he was younger. Small specks of his energy would drift outwards from the glow as well, like tiny stars floating away for but a moment before fading into nothing.

He wondered if maybe that’s what his magic felt like to the witcher, something like starlight, a comforting sight that led a path through the darkness of the night.

The wound slowly healed, Jaskier waiting until the bite could no longer be seen as the skin was mended back together, and only then did he remove his hand to sit back against the ground. He let out a sigh, feeling the warmth of the fire behind him as it crackled softly in the silence, and Geralt made a low hum as he rolled his pant let back down. There was still a hole in the cloth where teeth had torn into it, but there were no longer an indents of teeth against skin to match.

“You’re all patched up now, yeah?” Jaskier said with a tired smile, reaching his arms up to stretch as he rolled his shoulders back.

He felt himself yawn, looking up at the sky where clouds drifted by to uncover the moon low as it began its path for the night. He yawned again, murmuring that he was tired as they had been walking all day today and a good night’s rest would do him well. Geralt grunted in return, getting up to sit back down on his bedroll laid out by the fire, Jaskier’s on the other side, and he rested his swords next to him where he could easily grab them should he need them during the night. Jaskier wished him a goodnight, pushing off his hands to stand up himself, and nearly toppled back over as he stumbled when trying to walk back to his own bedroll, making a face to himself.

“Ah, I’m even more tired than I thought!” Jaskier said when Geralt squinted at him, and the bard flopped down onto his bedding with his usual theatrics as he muttered about the comforts of a real bed.

Geralt only hummed, having heard this conversation before and already told Jaskier it was his own fault for following the man out into the woods that he wasn’t spending the night under a roof. Jaskier continued to talk anyway, snuggling into his bedding as he spoke thoughts aloud, and paused when he looked back to the witcher to see the man’s eyes closed, flickering light from the slowly dwindling fire reflecting off his face. He was sure Geralt wasn’t asleep, not yet anyways, but Jaskier decided to call it a night there as he let out a quiet sigh to himself, closing his eyes as he tried to get some rest for the long day ahead of him.

He did manage to fall asleep not too long afterwards, but he woke up far too quickly than what he would have preferred. It was past morning, though, sun bright in his eyes, and he was surprised Geralt let him sleep in as long as he did, the man usually waking him up just as the sun began to rise over the horizon so they could get back on the road quicker. As he sat up on his bedroll, he noticed that the rest of the camp was all packed up and ready to go, though, seeing Roach on the side with everything strapped behind the saddle. He didn’t see Geralt, or his swords, and was about to wonder if the man was around, but that thought was quickly answered when he heard rustling and saw the man appear carrying fresh hunt.

“Geralt.” Jaskier had said, though he wasn’t exactly sure if there was a question there or not, but the man nodded.

“You were still sleeping. I decided to get us something for the road.”

“Ah.”

They didn’t say anything else, Geralt packing away what he caught to preserve them until later, and Jaskier rolled up his bedding to strap it onto Roach’s pack with the rest of the stuff. He was grateful that Geralt let him do so, thankful that it was one less thing he needed to worry about carrying, but his lute he knew to take care of himself. Secured in its case, he slung it over his shoulder, the strap fastened snuggly against his chest so it wouldn’t jostle around too much as he walked. The spot they picked for their camp was just to the side of the dirt path they have been following and Jaskier watched as Geralt led Roach back over to it, preparing to start their traveling for the day. He knew Geralt wanted to make it to the next town before nightfall, something Jaskier would appreciate as well, but it would be a long walk. Hmm.

The bard closed his eyes, taking a steadying breath, and stepped onto the dirt path himself.

He managed to keep up his pace for a while, making it up to the short break they took to eat around noon, but when the witcher hoisted himself back up onto Roach’s back and began their steady walk forward once more, Jaskier found himself starting to struggle. He told himself to focus on one thing, at first watching the way silver hair swayed side to side gently from Roach’s movements, but it didn’t help for long. He started to wince at every other step, a soft grumble leaving his lips once as he muttered to himself under his breath. They were half way there, though, half way and then they would make it to town and Jaskier could check in to the inn and finally have a bed after however many days it’s been since they’ve been roaming the woods. He could do it, only a little bit farther.

He almost stumbled again, dirt stirring under his boots, though he quickly recovered himself and made to walk on as if nothing happened, but that’s when Geralt finally turned his head to look back at him.

“What?” Jaskier tried to defend himself, knowing Geralt was probably used to walking for days more, but the man hummed and motioned for Roach to stop on the path.

Jaskier gave him a confused look as he watched the man get off his horse, wondering what they were doing, and a small sense of guilt built up in his chest at the thought of the man stopping because of him. He knew Geralt didn’t like to take longer to travel than he had to. But instead, the witcher gestured for Jaskier to come over, the bard doing so, though with confusion still present on his face.

“Get on.”

Jaskier stared in silence, blinking once, then twice.

“Excuse me, did you say…”

“Get on.” Geralt repeated, expression neutral and unchanging as his hand gestured to the saddle.

Jaskier murmured a quiet oh, turning to Roach then as he put a hesitant hand on the saddle, not too used to riding a horse quite yet. This wasn’t the first time he’s been on Roach, but it was still as much as a surprise as always. Geralt helped him up, though, directing his foot to the stirrup and had a hand on his hip to hold him steady as he jumped up, and Jaskier managed to hold back a blush from appearing on his cheeks. Once he was settled, Geralt then moved to have a hand on the reins, guiding Roach as they started traveling once more with Geralt walking besides them.

Jaskier was surprised; he wasn’t expecting this to happen, but it made him smile as he let himself relax on top of Roach. His legs were certainly grateful for it too.

…

After returning from a rather gross contract, the duo had decided to turn in for the night at the local inn. With fresh coin in hand, Jaskier managed to persuade the other that a nice warm bath would do them well and got a room with the warm water waiting for them in the wooden tub adorned in the neighboring nook of the room. Geralt let Jaskier bathe first since he was usually a lot less of a mess than Geralt was and the water would still be relatively clean when he got out. Geralt, on the other hand, would often turn the water dark from blood and dirt and whatever else he got into when he was doing witcher’s work. The bard once saw the man stride right into a murky swamp when he got a contract dealing with drowners, not an ounce of hesitance in his steps as the dark water reached almost up to his chest. Jaskier had stayed behind on dry ground, staring at the witcher with wide eyes as he looked to the swamp filled with who-all-knows-what. He wasn’t going to ruin another one of his specially designed outfits for this.

Then Jaskier moved to lie on his bed when it was Geralt’s turn to wash himself, having his back turned to the man to give him some privacy. He was humming some tunes to himself, contemplating whether he should write it down or not, when he heard the sound of the other man standing up in the bath, water rushing down as he stepped out of the tub. There was the rustle of clothes, Jaskier waiting a moment longer, then finally turned around to face him when the man stepped farther into the room. He was wearing a light pair of pants, string tied around his waist, with his back turned to the bard as he dried his hair with a towel cloth. He reached over to grab his shirt resting on one of the wooden dressers in the room, but Jaskier had gasped as he quickly sat up.

“Geralt! What’d you do to your back?!”

The man paused, setting the towel down next to his shirt as he frowned lightly to himself, causing the bard to gape more at him. This man was acting almost like he forgot the wound was even there, struggling to remember where it even came from! It was red and scratched up, not bleeding as much like the other injuries he usually got and it also looked cleaner, Jaskier guessed because of the bath, but it still looked like it hurt and it spanned almost the entire upper half of his back.

“Kikimore.” He finally said, and Jaskier had to keep himself from throwing his arms up in the air at the man.

He seems to do that a lot. But then again, it’s Geralt that he’s dealing with.

“A kikimore?! There was a kikimore there? Is that why you told me to go back to make sure Roach was doing okay? Geralt.” He sighed the name, shaking his head at the man.

Geralt didn’t reply, instead picking up his shirt though didn’t put it on as he walked back over to his bed, and Jaskier muttered about the man’s recklessness as he walked over to sit at the edge of the man’s bed himself. He directed the witcher to lay on his stomach, waiting patiently as the man grumbled but did as the bard said, and propped his arms up under a pillow as he rested his head against it. Jaskier gave him a moment to get comfortable, then finally scooted over to get closer to him, leg brushing against his hip.

The bard inspected the injury, a lighter sigh leaving his lips after seeing that it wasn’t that bad, or at least not that bad for Geralt’s standards. Then, with his careful hand, he reached over to place it on the left side of the man’s back to start, the gentle thrum of energy warm under his palm. It wasn’t bad, yes, but it reached across the span of his back, almost from shoulder to shoulder. It would take some time to heal.

It was quiet, though Jaskier didn’t mind, and he was calm as he watched Geralt’s chest move slightly with his breathing. The chain of the witcher’s medallion was around the man’s neck, as always, and Jaskier noted it before his eyes wandered down the other’s back. Past the wound, Jaskier could see faint lines and marks littering his skin, some more distinct than others, but it was clear to tell that Geralt has been through many struggles. There were some smaller scratches close together like the mark of a claw, some long and wrapping around his hip and side like a slash of a sword, some the bard didn’t want to imagine where they came from, and he hummed sadly. They were the scars from past injuries, wounds from before the two of them met, when Jaskier wasn’t around. There was nothing he could do about them now.

Jaskier moved his hand over Geralt’s back slowly as his magic healed just as slowly. There was something soothing about it all, though. About sitting with Geralt and being able to take care of him, the room quiet but filled with an air of safety. Often times Jaskier would have a tune in his head, wanting to hum softly as he cared for the other man. He didn’t, not wanting to bother the other when he was hurt, but he would imagine the melodies in his mind.

His hand eventually stopped at the other side of Geralt’s back, the room getting dim as the sun began to sink behind the horizon. He felt as the energy from his hand slowly faded and the light dimmed as he finished with the wound, the skin no longer red and damaged. He lifted his hand up then, letting out a quiet sigh to himself as he sat back a bit in his spot, but noticed when Geralt didn’t move, the man’s breathing slow as Jaskier watched the rhythmic up and down of it. Usually, when Jaskier finished tending to his injuries, the man would grunt and step back, the usual distance between the two of them returning. However, now Geralt stayed in place, not making a sound as Jaskier looked up at his head resting on his arms, eyes closed. He must have fallen asleep.

Jaskier smiled softly at the thought, a warm feeling blooming in his chest to see that the usually highly guarded man felt safe enough around him to fall asleep where he would be most vulnerable. Jaskier thought for a moment, wondering, and returned his hand to the witcher’s back, letting his fingers brush lightly against the skin. He didn’t want to risk waking the witcher up, keeping his touch soft, but he slid his hand down to trace over the scars he could see. The witcher’s breath stayed even and slow, lulling the bard to want to doze off as well, and he watched as his hand moved to each scar. He blinked slowly, starting to feel his tiredness catch up to him, but he had one more thought.

Jaskier moved his hand to brush away a few strands of hair between Geralt’s shoulders, letting them fall to the side, and slowly leaned forward to place a soft kiss between the witcher’s shoulder blades. The man didn’t stir, still asleep, and Jaskier leaned back.

Geralt was sleeping on top of his blankets; the only way to move them out from under him would be to wake him up, so Jaskier stepped over to his bed on quiet feet to grab the blanket there. He returned to the witcher then to lay the blanket over him, a small smile raising the corner of his lips as he did so. He wasn’t quite sure how witcher anatomy worked, how different the man was from normal humans as he wondered about things like if the witcher could even get cold, but that didn’t stop him from caring about the other all the same. He would continue to worry about him even if Geralt told him not to time and time again. Someone had to, Jaskier would think.

He was still sitting on the other’s bed after settling the blanket over Geralt, not wanting to return to his own bed just yet. The light from the windows has almost completely disappeared by now, Jaskier’s eyes adjusting to the dark, and he sat at the edge of the bed wondering what next to do. He didn’t exactly want to get up, making a face to himself as he thought, and looked to Geralt once more. The man was laying more towards the right side of the bed, giving Jaskier room to sit when he was healing, and the bard huffed as he felt himself lay down on his stomach, propping his head up on his arms similarly to the other. He wasn’t laying too close to him, not able to see too much now that it had gotten darker as well, but there was a small comfort at the thought of resting next to the other. Jaskier had no intentions of actually falling asleep here, knowing it would be better to return to his own bed, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t let himself relax here for a short moment.

He blinked, feeling his mind start to doze, blinked again as he reminded himself to return to his own bed soon, blinked once more as he imagined what it would be like if one night he could rest his head on Geralt’s chest when he slept.

He blinked, eyes closing, and that was the last thing he remembered about that night.

When Jaskier woke up, he found his head was resting on a pillow, blanket pulled up over his shoulders as he was lying in the middle of the bed. It took him a moment to realize he was not in his own bed, as usually Geralt took the right one and Jaskier the left, and his eyes widened. He was lying by himself and quickly turned to look to the other bed, but that one was empty too, though it also looked untouched since Jaskier took the blanket from it as well. He sat up a bit to look around the room, but didn’t see any signs of Geralt, his swords gone as well signaling that he must have gone out. Jaskier let himself fall back, head hitting the pillow once more, but paused when he picked up Geralt’s scent still lingering on the bed. He turned his face to the pillow, breathing in, and the scent still seemed present. As if Geralt had left only recently.

Some people would look at Geralt and think of him as a monster hunter through and through, seeing him as a brute, a man who only thinks of what to eat and who to kill, and Jaskier has seen some people wrinkle their noses at him, muttering under their breaths about how unpleasant he must be. But Jaskier never thought of Geralt like that. If anything, he was always comforted by the witcher’s presence. And he thought of the other’s scent as warm, reminding him of the fresh air of a forest’s trees, sometimes like the wildflowers they come across as they travel, sometimes like the wood smoke of the small fires they make when they camp outside at night. It relaxed the bard, like it was a reminder that the witcher was here, that Jaskier wasn’t alone.

So Jaskier closed his eyes, relaxing back in the bed as he let his mind ease with the other’s scent around him, and dozed off once more.

He may have felt a hand run through his hair sometime later, the touch light, but he was too sleepy to remember.

…

Jaskier was waiting at the lower floor of the inn, taking a sip from a wooden tankard in hand as he tried not to worry too much. Geralt had gotten a new contract, the town claiming of a beast that comes out from a cave deep in the nearby forest at moonrise and hunts down any who are unlucky enough to be caught out at night. Due to the lack of details, Geralt didn’t want to risk it being something too dangerous for Jaskier to be around (which Jaskier complained about the whole time because he’s always looking for new material for his songs) and told the bard to wait for him in town.

“I’ll return no later than morning.” The witcher had said when he left during the night to find it, voice firm, but Jaskier knew to trust him.

So Jaskier waited, deciding not to go to sleep just yet until the man returned. Geralt was good at his job, something Jaskier liked to brag about in his songs, maybe a bit of pride slipping through as well, so he usually finished what contracts he did sooner than he estimates. Jaskier was honestly expecting the man to return within an hour or two.

He didn’t worry when it reached a third hour, feeling a little tired when it got up to the fourth, but he knew it could be hard to find whatever cave the monster would be hiding in, maybe more so if it was out lurking in the forest at night. So he waited, trusting Geralt, as it slowly reached morning.

Jaskier wanted himself to relax, telling himself that “morning” meant some time before noon, and there was still a few hours until then. The dawn was just starting to rise, so Geralt still had a few hours to return.

A few of the townspeople had started to walk into the inn, ordering their own tankard of ale or fresh breakfast, chatting to one another as a maiden carried plates to each table. Jaskier wasn’t paying much attention, eyes staring at his own half eaten roll of bread, and the doors swung open as two men walked in side by side.

“Didn’t that witcher come in on a horse?” One of them asked the other, and Jaskier immediately perked his head up, listening.

“Yeah?” The other answered.

“’Cause a horse just ran into town without anyone on it, has all them bags on it and everything.”

Roach?

No, no, it could be a different horse; there are other people with horses. Jaskier frowned to himself, shaking his head lightly, but he couldn’t slow down his quickened heartbeat. He had to check. He didn’t think it was Roach; it wouldn’t make any sense for Roach to run into town without Geralt like that, but he knew he had to see for himself. He was across the room, pushing the inn doors open before he even realized he had gotten up.

 _Don’t panic_ , Jaskier told himself, _don’t panic_.

He stepped outside, following the sound of the commotion as people muttered among the streets, and stopped when he saw the brown horse throwing its head up as it stamped in place, whining and unsettled. It was Roach.

Jaskier’s eyes widened, feeling his pulse like it was beating in his head, and he quickly ran over to the mare. He grabbed her reins, holding a hand out to try to steady her as he spoke to her, hoping his voice would calm her down until she finally stopped kicking her feet up. Jaskier then frantically turned his head in search of Geralt, looking for the familiar white hair of the witcher among the small growing crowd of people curious about the horse, because Geralt wouldn’t leave Roach alone like this. Not unless… unless…

Jaskier has never ridden Roach alone before. He’s ridden while pressed up against Geralt’s back, the man still in full control, and there was the time when Geralt had him get up by himself while walking besides her while still holding her reins, but Jaskier was never by himself. He trusts Roach, though, and made a silent prayer that Roach trusts him enough too as he stepped around to her side to the saddle. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the shaking in his hands, and pushed himself up onto her back. As he settled himself on the saddle, he saw Roach turned her head to look at him, unease still in her eyes, but she seemed to be doing okay with him, and that at least made Jaskier feel slightly better. Slightly.

“Roach, hey girl.” He said softly, leaning forward as he grabbed her reins in one hand, other patting the side of her neck. “I need you to-“ He paused, feeling a cry building up in his chest, and he had to close his eyes for a second as he sniffled. “I need you to find Geralt.” She seemed to perk up at his name and Jaskier let himself smile at that, even if he felt his eyes tear up slightly. “Yeah, Geralt. Where did he go?” He continued to pet her, repeating the witcher’s name again, and Roach straightened up before turning around, shaking her head before she started to lead the way back out of the town, speeding up as they got closer to the start of the forest path.

Jaskier felt his lip start to tremble, though he felt a small sense of relief that Roach seemed to understand what he was asking and knew where to go, Jaskier knowing he would be hopeless in trying to find the witcher by himself. He held onto the reins tightly, blinking back more tears that threatened to fall, and soon the world was blurring past them as Roach ran down the old dirt path through the trees. They had to duck under low branches and jump over fallen trees and overgrown brambles, but Jaskier could hardly remember the journey, eyes watering as he repeated the same thought in his mind.

_Please let Geralt be okay, please let Geralt be okay, please let Geralt be okay._

He was almost jolted out of it when Roach suddenly stopped, whining when they reached a thicker cluster of trees off the path that the mare would not be able to pass. Jaskier wasted no time, though, dismounting as he ran to the trees, looking for a sign, for anything. Then he saw a broken branch, splinters poking out from one of the trees, and he looked down to see footprints, heavy footprints, from someone who was tired and looking to get their job done and over with. Jaskier rushed through the trees, staring down at the footprints as he followed them, wanting them to lead him to Geralt, wanting to see the witcher okay, wanting this all to be just be an overreaction on his part.

Then the ground lightened, footprints disappearing as they continued forward, and the trail led to a small clearing within the trees. Jaskier first saw a large beast laying in the middle of the grass, unmoving and still as dark blood pooled around it.

The beast Geralt was to slay.

So the beast was dead, right? Geralt won? But when Jaskier turned his head, he saw a smaller figure laying by the edge of the trees on the other side, looking just as still as the creature.

“Geralt!” The bard yelled out, running through the clearing, ignoring the foul stench of the freshly slain beast, and fell to the witcher’s side.

Geralt’s eyes were closed, body unmoving as he laid on his back, but on his stomach was a large open wound, blood seeping into the ground under him as his clothes were stained red. Jaskier heard himself make a choking sound, terrified, seeing more blood than he ever wanted to see from the witcher. The wound was wide and awful and frightening and no man would ever survive this and-

That thought made Jaskier almost want to throw up, but he held it back, telling himself he needs to focus, he _needs_ to, and he caught a glimpse of the witcher’s chest moving slightly upwards.

He’s breathing! He’s still alive! But barely, his chest moving so slowly that Jaskier barely caught the movement of it, knowing the witcher’s pulse was already slow enough as it is. But he was alive and there was a chance Jaskier could still save him.

So he quickly put both of his hands over the wound, ignoring the blood, ignoring the tears that had started to stream down his face, ignoring the fear in his heart and the way his hands shook, and let his healing magic flow through them.

“Geralt.” He said softly, sniffling as his voice trembled. “Geralt, it’s going to be okay, you’re going to be okay.” He looked over at the wound, seeing the soft glow under his palms and the slow start of the healing, though the wound was deep and dark, and Jaskier could feel a dull ache in his stomach, but it was okay, it was okay.

“You’re going to be okay, and then we can go back to the inn and get our well-deserved rest and-“ his voice caught in his throat, more tears falling from his cheeks as they started to drip to his shirt and lap.

“Geralt…” He looked to the wound again, slowly healing, but it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough and- “Geralt, you can’t die on me, I won’t let you. We made a deal.” His voice was shaking, he knew he sounded weak, sniffling and breathing unevenly. “We made a deal that you’d fight the monsters and I’d follow to write the songs about them and you’d say that you don’t like any of them, that my singing isn’t worth a coin, but you secretly love them and I’m your favorite bard and you wouldn’t know what to do without me and-“ he finally let out a sob at that, shutting his eyes though it did nothing to stop the streams of tears on his face. “And- and I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

As soon as he said that, he felt a sharp pain in his stomach, doubling over and almost lost the position of his hands, but he managed to keep them steady as he opened an eye to look at the wound. It wasn’t as deep, wasn’t as bad, but-

_Fuck it hurt._

Jaskier clenched his teeth, a seething sound escaping his lips, but he kept his hands in place, kept his energy flowing to Geralt, kept letting it slowly heal the wound, he has to, he _has_ to.

“Geralt.” He said, leaning over more now, closer to him. “Geralt, please.” He winced as another sharp pain struck through his stomach, hurting, not relenting, knowing it was much worse for the man lying below him. “Geralt.” He repeated, the pain making it difficult for him to speak now, but he didn’t give up. “Geralt, I can’t lose you, I _won’t lose you_.”

He then yelled out a swear as he felt another throb of pain, and gods Geralt had to deal with this alone and Jaskier couldn’t think about that, didn’t want to think about that, and turned his head to the wound once more to see it smaller now, not as intimidating, not as deep, something Geralt might have gotten on one of his normal quests when he was being reckless.

Jaskier turned to the witcher’s face, still unchanging, but the bard had hope, still wanted to believe, and he closed his eyes once more as he focused all of his energy to his hands, to his healing, to the wound, ignoring the pain that flared in his stomach because he could deal with that. Then he thought he felt a shift from the body below him, his eyes snapping open as he looked back to the witcher’s face, and he noticed Geralt take a deep breath in. He looked back to the wound and it was slowly closing, slowly getting better, letting the witcher breathe properly again. There was still blood, Jaskier knowing his hands would look like he had punched the beast himself, his clothes ruined too, but that was okay, that didn’t matter, only Geralt mattered, and-

He turned to see the other’s face, Geralt taking another deep breath, and finally, finally, he saw the witcher carefully blink his eyes opened, looking almost confused.

“Geralt…” Jaskier said, voice weak, but he managed for a small smile on his lips as he saw the man turn his head to look at him, blinking under the morning’s sunlight, until everything around Jaskier turned dark, body going numb, and he collapsed to the ground.

When Jaskier awakes, he still feels tired, blinking his eyes open slowly as his memory seemed foggy at best. He’s in a room, seeing the wooden ceiling above him, and he’s lying on a bed as his head was resting back against a pillow, blanket up to his chest. He must be at an inn, but he’s on the right bed, not the left. His mind is still groggy, body still feeling sore, and he groans softly as he turns his head to the side only to find Geralt sitting in a chair next to the bed, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Jaskier.” He said, reaching a hand out, but it quickly stopped midair and retreated, Geralt looking unsure.

Jaskier knit his eyebrows together because that’s an odd look for the witcher to have. But he remembers now, remembers what happened before passing out.

“Geralt.” He said, relieved to see the witcher as a soft smile lifted the corner of his lips. “You’re okay.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt said again, voice calmer, but he looked… sad. “Tell me what happened.”

Jaskier tried to chuckle lightly, though he knew it sounded stiff, and sat up a little on the bed as the blanket fell to his lap.

“Well, you ran off to complete your contract by yourself, which I’m going to guess I can say that it didn’t go well, and Roach came running into town without you. So I hopped on her back, and thank Melitele she let me and led me to you, Geralt; I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if I couldn’t find you. You had a terrible wound on your stomach, if you could even call it a stomach at the state it was in, so I healed you and… well…” He gestured around the room. “Here we are!”

“Jaskier.” Geralt repeated, eyebrows lowering, a small frown on his lips, and Jaskier knew why. “There’s more.”

Jaskier let out a sigh, his expression falling, and he looked down at his hands he had folded in front of himself, fiddling with his fingers. He knew one day this conversation would come, one day he had to tell Geralt the truth, but he could never figure out in his head what to say. Of all the poetry and weaving of tales that he thought himself to specialize so well in, he could never pick out just what words would be able to say what he needed to say for this.

So the only thing he had to go on was the truth. The plain, unembellished, simple truth.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment in thought, then let it out as he glanced at the witcher’s golden eyes and began.

“As you know, I have a special ability to heal.” He spoke slowly, though his mind was quickly searching for what words to say, and Geralt watched him in silence, gaze never straying. “But I can’t simply just magically heal whatever I like as if the injuries mean nothing at all, no. There is usually a cost to things like this.” He saw as Geralt’s eyebrows furrowed together ever so slightly, though remained quiet as he waited for Jaskier to continue. “So…” Jaskier paused, but this was it; he had to tell Geralt. “When I heal, although I don’t take the injury itself, I do feel the pain as if I did.”

He saw Geralt’s eyes suddenly widen, eyebrows raised and lips parting as he was about to say something, but Jaskier quickly cut him off as he waved a hand in the air.

“It’s not like I’m walking around bleeding or anything! Like I said, I don’t take the injury. If I heal a broken bone, my bone doesn’t actually break, I can still use it, it just _feels_ like it broke. And the pain doesn’t last as long as it normally would for the injuries too! Usually only a few days from the worst ones, then it turns to a dull memory of it before disappearing completely. I’m fine, Geralt, I’ve been doing this for years, look-“ Jaskier then lifted his shirt to reveal his stomach, looking just as normal as before. “See? Nothing there, it’s all good, I didn’t mean to make you all worried about me. I’m guessing I just happened to pass out from the feeling there because you did look to have a fatal wound, so healing it made me feel like I died myself there.”

As soon as he said those last words he felt himself wince at them, knowing that was probably the least helpful thing to say right now, and Geralt certainly reacted to it, his breath stopping for a moment.

Then Geralt looked to the side, face frowning in thought, mouth opening and closing, eyes darting from side to side, eyebrows furrowing. He looked back to Jaskier.

“Jaskier… you… I…” He frowned at himself again, then carefully took a breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because…”

The truth, Jaskier. The plain, unembellished simple truth.

“Because I love you, Geralt. And I can’t lose you.”

Jaskier had expected the look of surprise on Geralt’s face, eyes blinking as the man took a moment to understand what the bard had said. He had imagined what Geralt might say too, how he would probably frown as he turned him down, how his feelings weren’t returned.

Jaskier wasn’t expecting for the witcher to stand up from the chair, to get on the bed, to lean over the bard, placing his forearms at either side of Jaskier’s head, body hovering over him for a moment before leaning down to kiss him. It was Jaskier’s turn to be surprised, but his eyes fluttered closed, feeling the gentle press of Geralt’s lips against his. Then Geralt leaned back, though only slightly, keeping their foreheads touching as they breathed the same air.

“I can’t lose you either.” Geralt spoke softly, and Jaskier felt his breath catch for a moment.

Geralt leaned back a little more, enough so the two of them could look into each other’s eyes, and Jaskier could see the sincerity in them, hoping his own eyes showed the same.

Then Jaskier reached his hands up to Geralt’s hair, pulling the man back down to press their lips together once more, and the other man complied with no resistance. Geralt’s lips were surprisingly soft for being a witcher, though Jaskier should’ve known by now not to make assumptions based on that, and they were warm, the two of them tilting their heads as they kissed again, pausing only to let Jaskier catch a breath before Geralt pressed forward with another.

Jaskier then started to run his hands through Geralts hair, gently carding through the strands, and Geralt let out a low rumble, leaning into Jaskier’s right hand slightly, though not enough to separate their lips. Jaskier let himself sigh into the feeling, the movement parting his lips for a moment, but long enough for Geralt to take the opportunity to slide his tongue past them, and _oh_ , this must be what a dream feels like as Jaskier moaned quietly. He let his eyes fall closed once more, focusing on the feeling as their tongues brushed, soft and warm and wanting and everything Jaskier ever wanted as Geralt gave him another second to breathe while nipping at his bottom lip.

Jaskier then continued to move his hands down through Geralt’s hair, eventually getting to the small band that held back some of it, and slowly pulled it out as he untucked some of the hair in place behind the man’s ears as well. White hair fell down around them and Jaskier couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him, the sight new to him, and Geralt simply let out another soft hum before leaning down to capture the bard’s lips in his once more.

One of Geralt’s hands was still by the bard’s head, having moved to cup his jaw, but the other hand snuck down to slip under his shirt, pushing the fabric up as fingers gently brushed the side of his chest. It was like a dream come true; in fact, Jaskier had dreamed of something like this before, something that started like this with the silver-haired man leaning over him and then continued further. So he couldn’t help it when his body reacted to the thought, to the man kissing the breath out of him, to the gentle hand brushing against his chest. They were so close, Jaskier feeling the warmth from Geralt’s body, so close, all he had to do was…

Jaskier tried to roll his hips up, but when he did, he felt a sharp pain ring through his stomach, making him wince with a short gasp. And Geralt noticed, of course he did, and quickly leaned back to sit up over Jaskier’s legs, the bard already missing the taste of his lips. Geralt then rolled up Jaskier’s shirt enough to reveal his stomach, a careful hand barely tracing over where the wound would be if it were there. Geralt had a concerned expression, another face Jaskier wasn’t used to seeing, though he couldn’t lie and say he didn’t like seeing the witcher show emotions for him. But at the same time, he could still feel the blush on his cheeks, lips parted as he was panting lightly, still wanting the other’s touch, wanting them to be closer, and a soft whine escaped his throat.

“Geralt.” He murmured, blinking up at the other. “Please.”

The witcher hummed, hand still carefully tracing his stomach, but it then moved to his hip, keeping him in place, and leaned down to press another softer kiss against his lips.

“Next time. When you’re not hurt.” Geralt said, his voice a low rumble. “There won’t be any pain when you’re with me.” He kissed down Jaskier’s jaw then, reaching to the space below his ear, then trailed down to his neck.

Geralt was right, they should wait until he was better, but Jaskier still pouted.

“I’ll have you know, I’m very upset.” He said, hearing a hum from Geralt in response. “I finally find out that the feelings I’ve been harboring for you for years have been reciprocated and I’m stuck lying in bed where we can’t even get to the good part. This is like some type of punishment.”

Geralt hummed once more, a soft chuckle in his voice though, and he moved to lay down against Jaskier’s side, staying close.

“Good part? Is getting me to bed you all I’m good for?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier huffed at him.

“You know what I mean. Besides, I bet you want it just as much as I do.”

“Hmn.” He didn’t say anything else, instead pressing the bridge of his nose against Jaskier’s neck, under his jaw, and Jaskier could feel the slow rise and fall of the other’s chest against his side.

It was warm. And comforting. To have Geralt so close.

Then Geralt’s hand on his hip moved slowly back to his stomach, touch still light as if he were afraid of causing any more pain to the bard.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He then asked, voice soft, and Jaskier hummed in thought for a moment.

Geralt’s hand was light against his skin, but there none the less, and it was like a soft tingle on his stomach. It was odd, certainly, but it distracted him from the dull pain that lingered there.

“Could you…” Jaskier paused, letting out a quiet breath. “… keep your hand there?”

Geralt hummed, as usual, but he laid his palm flat against the bards stomach, though still just as careful, and repositioned himself to lay his head on the pillow next to Jaskier. When the bard turned to look at him, his eyes were closed, breath even, and Jaskier smiled lightly at the sight. The best way for him to get better would be to sleep as well, so he closed his eyes, feeling safe with the other’s hand resting almost protectively over his stomach.

…

Jaskier was standing back along the trees of a field, watching as Geralt stood ahead of him, sword unsheathed as he faced a stray wyvern. It seemed to have been separated from its group, causing trouble for the nearby village as it picked off the livestock, and made for a perfect job the witcher to take care of. Jaskier tagged along happily as the two of them went off to find it, the bard smiling as he strummed an upbeat tune on his lute, and they came across the creature quickly, leading to where they were now.

Geralt stood between Jaskier and the creature, keeping it from trying to target the bard, and Jaskier watched with bright eyes, taking in every detail. It was a wondrous thing, seeing the witcher in action, how his steps were as graceful as a dancer yet were as solid as a warrior. Light, yet strong. His sword swinging swiftly, but still just as dangerous.

Yet… Jaskier had noticed a difference, noticed the witcher changing how he usually dealt with monsters, which the bard liked to think he has known Geralt long enough to know what that is. Jaskier didn’t say anything at first, thinking it would pass before long, but as their travels continued, Geralt had yet to go back to his usual straightforward offensive style. And Jaskier knew why.

Ever since finding out the truth about Jaskier’s ability, Geralt had become overly cautious. He would often jump back away from the monsters more, dodging their attacks, sidestepping and sliding out of range from their claws and fangs, which was nice and all, but if he’s out of range of the monsters, the monsters are out of range from him too. It would take longer for the witcher to complete each contract, the man no longer taking the riskier moves in favor of the ones that he knows are safe. But it looked odd, the man unused to fighting like that, going against his instincts, stance hesitant.

Which, Jaskier knew the man meant well, it was sweet actually. He knew what was going on inside his witcher’s mind. But he also knew the man was worrying too much. If the man is too defensive, Jaskier knows it’ll soon enough get him into worse situations. When an opportunity presents itself to land the fatal blow on a creature as it roars its fangs at him, the witcher will instead step back. When one of the monsters lashes out in a way that the man could block and twist to his advantage, he’ll duck to play it safe. When he could usually rush into a pack of snarling beasts, swinging his sword around himself to face all at once, he holds back to try to face them one at a time. But the man can’t do witcher’s work if he acts as if he’s afraid of the monsters he’s been made to fight.

Jaskier knows he’s not afraid of the monsters, though, and he’s not afraid of getting hurt. He’s afraid of Jaskier getting hurt for him; of getting an injury that Jaskier will heal and, in turn, feel the pain of it.

And now, fighting the wyvern, Jaskier watched as he stood cautiously on guard, sword in front of himself protectively as he waited for the creature to make a move instead of dashing towards it like he usually did. When the creature lunged towards him, that’s when Geralt finally stepped to the side enough to slash at its wing as it tumbled forward, a screech filling the air as the creature stumbled over. As it fell, Geralt readied his sword to strike the finishing blow, but the creature appeared to still have enough energy left to claw at the man with its talons. Jaskier couldn’t see what happened, the witcher standing in front of the beast and blocking his view, but the man didn’t look to waver as he drove the sword down, the creature going still.

Taking that as his cue, Jaskier stepped out to the field where Geralt was standing over the creature’s body, collecting something as proof that it was slain to take back to the village.

“Ah, I can see the tale coming together already of Geralt’s victory over a swarm of wyverns surrounding him at this old yellowing fall field which smelled a bit-” Jaskier paused, making a motion as he sniffed the air. “-like honey.”

Geralt shot him a look over his shoulder, frowning, and Jaskier smiled.

“Joking. I’m joking. Besides, a wyvern, a majestic creature-“ He paused again. “And deadly, though still majestic, is far from the most intriguing monsters you’ve faced. I don’t believe this will captivate the audience as much as other ideas I have.”

Geralt grunted, not commenting about it, but Jaskier continued to hum happily as the two of them returned back to the village to claim their reward.

When they turned in for the night at the neighboring inn, they walked to their room together, Jaskier sighing exaggeratedly as he shrugged off his jacket before folding it neatly to set on the small table in the room. He changed into his lighter clothing rather quickly, ready for a good night’s rest, but when he turned to face the other man, he noticed Geralt looking almost reserved, back turned to the bard as he looked tense while taking off his armor.

“Geralt?” Jaskier had asked, stepping over to the witcher, but the man turned his head to look over his shoulder.

“You can head to bed first. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Jaskier pursed his lips but turned to do just that until he heard the man grunt as he unclasped one of his shoulder pieces. Jaskier didn’t say anything then and walked up to the man quietly, trying to see what he was doing, and his eyes widened when he saw blood on the man’s arm. Geralt tried to hide it when he noticed the bard, frowning as he said it was nothing, but it was too late.

“Geralt!” Jaskier gasped. “Did that wyvern get you? Is that what that is?”

“It’s nothing.” The witcher tried to say again, but Jaskier only frowned at him.

“It’s not nothing, you’re bleeding, so it’s most certainly something.”

He tried to grab Geralt’s hand then, walking over to the bed to lead the man over to it, but the other pulled his hand away from him, staying put.

“Jaskier, it’s fine.”

“It’s fine.” Jaskier repeated in a sarcastic tone, getting more frustrated as he turned to the other, crossing his arms. “I shouldn’t need to remind you that blood is supposed to stay on the inside of you and not dripping onto the floor, as it is clearly doing now.”

“Jaskier.” The other said more firmly, giving him that stern look that would usually scare off others, but it didn’t work on the bard.

“No, Geralt, I think you’ve spent enough time worrying over me, which I understand, _I do_ , but you’re going to get yourself into worse trouble if you keep acting like you are now.” He finally let out, glaring at the other. “I’m here to take care of you, Geralt, I _want_ to, I like being able to, it has always been like that and it hasn’t changed now.” He then stepped up to stand next to Geralt with a sigh, expression softening as he took one of the witcher’s hands in his. “I understand that you’re trying to protect me, but this is how I’m supposed to protect you.” His tone saddened at that. “Don’t make me become more of a burden to you because of this.”

Geralt quickly frowned, reaching his other hand up so they both held tightly onto Jaskier’s.

“Jaskier, you are not a burden, you have never been a burden.”

“Then let me do one of the few things I can for you.” He felt tears start to sting the corners of his eyes, though he ignored it. “That day when I found you in the forest about to die… I can’t let that happen again, I won’t let you go through that again. I am always going to be there for you, always going to take care of you when you’re hurt, you can’t change that, so you have to stop making everything so hard on yourself. If you keep acting like that, you’re going to get hurt again, like before, maybe even worse.” He looked down at their hands, blinking away the tears, and when he looked up again, he could see the emotion in golden eyes that others never could. “If you want to take care of me, then you need to take care of yourself, and that means doing what you have to to do your job properly. When you’re fighting a monster, you need to be focusing on that, not on me.”

Geralt’s expression had turned soft, slowly moving one hand up to cup Jaskier’s cheek, and the bard leaned into the touch.

“Jaskier…” He said lightly, completely different than how he had said it only a minute prior.

“Let me help you.”

They were silent, Jaskier waiting for a reply as they stood gazing at one another, and then finally…

“Fine.” Geralt said quietly. “But only enough to stop the bleeding, then you leave the rest of it to heal by itself.”

Jaskier hummed. He knew witchers had a better recovery rate than humans, able to heal faster than normal. He still wanted to take care of Geralt, to rid the pain completely, but if this was what he needed to do to get Geralt to return to how he worked before.

“Okay.” He said, smiling softly at the other. “Okay.”

…

After that night, though Geralt was still hesitant at first, he finally, finally, started acting like he did before, taking the chances when fighting and, as Jaskier liked to say, had some song-worthy performances. He didn’t try to hide any injuries he got, though Jaskier could guess it was partly because the bard made it a habit to look over him to make sure there weren’t any. They kept their compromise that Jaskier would heal any injuries the other got, but only enough so they weren’t dangerous or bleeding anymore, then they would leave the rest of it to Geralt’s witcher healing. They were doing okay, though, and Jaskier was happy.

Now, the two of them were sitting together in their room at the next inn. It was early morning, soft light starting to filter through the curtained windows, and Jaskier had woken up to see Geralt sitting up beside him on the bed, back turned to him as he was running a hand through his loose hair, not tied up when he slept. The bard murmured a soft good morning, chuckling when the other looked over at him and responded with a small nod. His hair was still down, Jaskier seeing the band around his wrist, but the bard hummed.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to braid your hair.”

Geralt blinked at him, the room quiet for a moment, but he eventually moved to reposition himself on the bed, sitting at the end with his back still turned to the bard, but he had his knees tucked under him. He had his hands resting on his lap and Jaskier recognized it as the position he would often sit in when he was meditating.

Jaskier scooted over to sit next to the other, leaning to the side to see that the man’s eyes were closed as well, and he smiled as he sat back and raised his hands to part a section of silver hair. He started to hum a tune quietly as he ran his fingers through the soft strands, smiling as he thought about how nice it would look to add some flowers to the braids as he started to weave together the first one. Some little white ones that matched his hair, and maybe add a gold one that went with his eyes.

Jaskier took his time, the first small braid made on Geralt’s left, and once he finished that, he made a matching one on the man’s right. They were small, the majority of the man’s hair still loose like he usually had it, but where he would have his small ponytail was now replaced with the two braids that met together in the back and were tied together using the band he slipped off of Geralt’s wrist. It was simple, but Jaskier smiled at it.

Then, with a warm hum, Jaskier leaned forward from where he was sitting behind Geralt to place a kiss at the tip of the other’s ear. He smiled more at the thought that he _could_ kiss the other man, that the two of them were together, that it’s no longer just a wish he daydreamed about anymore, and he leaned forward once more to place another kiss behind the man’s ear. Then another against Geralt’s neck, and another down to the shoulder, and his lips smiled against the skin there. He then slowly slid his arms around Geralt’s waist, wrapping them around the other as the man finally hummed at him. They shared the quiet moment, each other’s presence a warm comfort to one another, and a thought came to the bard’s mind. The question he wanted to ask for quite a while returning.

“When I heal…” He murmured against the other’s shoulder, turning to rest his cheek against it then. “What does it feel like?”

Geralt was quiet, Jaskier wondering if he would answer or not.

“It feels like you.”

Jaskier responded with a questioning sound, leaning back as he tilted his head a little, and Geralt finally turned around in his spot to face the other, reaching out to grab the bard’s hands and leaned forward to rest their foreheads together.

“Like the warmth of your voice when you sing.” The silver-haired man then continued, quietly. “Like the way your eyes light up when you think of a new line to write down, the careful touch of your hands whenever you’re worried about me.” He then tilted their heads enough to press their lips together, soft but so full of meaning. “Like buttercups.”

Jaskier had to blink quickly to hold back his watery eyes, a quiet whine escaping his throat as he knocked their foreheads together.

“Geralt.” He said just as quietly as the other, then made a small laugh. “And you say you’re not a poet.”

Geralt huffed at that, but a small smile graced his lips, and Jaskier always warmed at seeing that look on the other. The bard let himself fall forward then, laying his head against the other’s broad chest, and Geralt wrapped his arms around the younger man, holding him close.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I'd love to hear what you guys think! It's my first story for the witcher fandom too! And I say first because I have many plans for other stories to write!  
> But also, I'm really interested to know if anyone figured out the secret of Jaskier's ability before it was revealed in the story! And where it was if you did! There are a few hints, such as the first injury with the right arm- Jaskier didn't think he'd play his lute because his arm hurt too much and he picked up the bread with his left hand, a very small odd detail for a right handed person. Then the leg with Jaskier stumbling around when he was trying to walk, writing that he "winced at every other step" for his left leg. Then there's the back, where Jaskier fell asleep on his stomach and didn't get up because he was too sore and didn't want to move.
> 
> Also! I made [a drawing](https://galaxykitty42.tumblr.com/post/611035945128640512/buttercups-for-a-buttercup) of Jaskier with a buttercup flower crown! It's on tumblr and I also plan on drawing Geralt with his white braided flower crown too!  
> Thank you all again, though, and I hope you enjoyed the story!!


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